Wanted
by CaptainFlye
Summary: A boy flees his home. A man lives day to day. All they want...is to be wanted.


**Not really much to say here. Just dive on into the story.**

**Disclaimer-I don't own Naruto**

**Plea-Review, please. :3**

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The boy ran through the snow, crying. It felt as though he were crying ice. He wondered if it was the same kind of ice that had just killed his father's friends…and his father. Why? They were happy, weren't they? Didn't they love each other? Didn't papa need him like he needed mama and papa?

He stumbled, falling down a hill, rolling over and over again. He rammed into a tree and lay there, sobbing hard. Eventually his sobbing subsided to sniffling. He hugged the tree as if seeking protection from the chill wind that seemed to follow him since that morning. Since the time he lost everything and everyone. Still the wind blew, chilling him to the bone. Yet he did not freeze. Was this, too, the fault of his blood, like his father said? Was he cursed? Doomed to live a life of misery for something beyond his control?

He stood up and began walking again. He idly wondered where he was going to, but he knew the question had no answer except one: as far away as possible. He could never go back, could never live as he had. He had killed. He had murdered. His own father, no less. Didn't that make life unlivable?

He slipped and fell again. Confused, he brushed away the snow before him to reveal ice. He was walking on a frozen river. With the water frozen, and the sun shining just so, he got the first look of himself he's had that day. He had splotches of blood on the side of his face his father had been on, trails running down where his tears had fallen, smudged by his wiping at them. There were stains in his outermost clothes. He ripped them off, throwing them away and grabbed snow in his hands. He shoved it roughly into his face, trying to wipe out the blood. Several desperate scrubs later he looked at his reflection again.

He was red all over. There was no more blood, but he was still red. From the cold? From the rubbing? …the guilt?

No matter where he went, there would be no hiding from what he had done. No one would help him. No one would take him in. No one would want him.

His tears fell anew as he began to beat out his frustrations on the ice, wishing it would break and take him, but to no avail. The ice held strong, as if willing him to live, to suffer for who he was and what he had done. To live unwanted.

Several days later the boy was digging through garbage. He had made it to a city, but he dare not beg for food. He feared that if he opened his mouth, someone would know, would sense what he had done. Somehow, they would know about his blood, and then he would die, too. But would it really be that bad, to die? No one wanted him anyway? Why, then, did he want so much to live?

He shook his head. He knew the answer. He hoped, uselessly, that someone would come to take time, to make him wanted again. He hoped that someone would need him, and save him from his useless existence. But it was a dream, and a foolish one. No one would want the boy who killed his own parents, whose very blood was a kind of poison. He continued rummaging through the garbage. He ate orange peels that night.

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The tall shinobi rolled his neck, popping the stiff joints as he walked into the village. It had been a long mission, and a boring one, as most missions were these days. When he had first become a member of the swordsman it had _meant_ something, but now no one cared. He was given two-bit missions that barely paid for his food and took too long periods of time. Slow escort missions, minor infiltration, local assassinations…all B, and sometimes even C rank.

He growled. The Mizukage had gone mad. Everyone knew it, but they were too afraid to say or do anything about it. After all, he contained the Sanbi. Who could possibly oppose him? Especially after the man initiated the bloodline purge. The man had ensured there would be no one powerful enough to oppose him. If only he himself were strong enough to do something.

Sighing, he began to look for a cheap restaurant. Or maybe he'd buy a drink to night. It might lift his spirits from these cold, depressing thoughts that plagued him so.

Just then, he caught movement in the corner of his eye. He tilted his head to give him a better view of the alley below. It was a boy. A young boy with long hair. If not for the way he walked he man might have mistaken him for a young girl. Even now he wasn't sure. What he did know was that his boy, like many others, was an orphan. There were many of those roaming the streets these days. Most died. He shrugged. This one was like all the others. He was of no consequence. He would die before winter was out, most likely.

He kept watching.

The boy looked even more lost than most, he realized. At least most others founded little bands, scrapping for food together. This boy, who, by the wear of his clothes, had been an orphan for some while, was quite alone. There was no one with him, and no one for him.

The man snorted. That was something like himself, wasn't it? He was alone, too. The closest he had to friends were his fellow swordsman, and they weren't even rival. He had never partnered with any, and some left a distinct distaste in his mouth, like that freaky fish-face. No, he had no one, and no one had him. He was alone, but unlike _this_ boy, he could survive.

He cracked his neck again and kept walking. A bar. Yes, tonight he needed a drink. There was sorrow enough in this world without taking the time to consider his own problems.

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He kept watching. He could not say why. He would leave, sometimes, for missions, but he would always find that boy again. Somehow he managed to survive, managed to live in the cold. He slept outside on nights that gave the man himself the chills and would have driven him inside if not for his odd interest in the small boy.

_Why_, he wondered. _Why is it that I keep come back to this boy? What is it about him that draws me so?_

He would continue to wonder with no answer for hours. He replayed every bit of knowledge he had on the boy in his mind. Besides his resistance to the cold there was nothing special about him. Nothing to make him special, to deserve another's attention. Especially not a random passing shinobi.

One day, however, he _did_ do something that drew his attention.

The shinobi knew the boy had had little to eat the last week. He had been shadowing him the whole time. The boy was getting _very_ hungry, and now…now he was beset upon by dogs. They, like the orphans, had been abandoned or lost their families. They wandered the streets for food just like this little street urchin below him and now, as often happened, the two had both come across a morsel of food. Three dogs and one lonely boy.

He shook his head. The boy would lose. He might even injure himself enough that he would finally die. And this man would not lift a finger to help him. It was the way of life. You learned to live and survive on your own, or you met a miserable death. Then the boy surprised him.

The water, ice and snow around him suddenly headed his call, erecting a barrier between the dogs, and him and his food. The boy looked around wildly, obviously fearing someone seeing him. And who wouldn't? He was no shinobi, and yet he had manipulated an element freely. The shinobi's eye's narrowed. This boy…he possessed a bloodline. Was this what drew his attention to him, in the first place? He scratched his chin. Perhaps it was finally time to meet the boy…

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The boy snatched his prize off the ground and ran away, fleeing the barking of the dogs. If anyone knew, if anyone saw… He couldn't even say anymore why he cared. All he did was live from one day to the next with no purpose, no reason. As he had that day on the frozen river, he would welcome death when it came. That is what he thought. And yet he fought so hard against it. Why?

He ate his meal and began to wander the streets again. It was starting to get warming. That, at least, would be a welcome change. Bare it though he did, he did not like the cold. It was another constant reminder of the life he no longer had. Each gust of wind that robbed the warmth from his body reminded him that he was unwanted, that everyone gave him the same chilling gaze as that wind that blew by.

Tired, he sat down against one of the planks on a bridge. It was on the edge of town. Few came here, and even the dogs rarely came to this part of town. It was too empty for most. He liked it that way, to an extent. It matched how he felt anyway. Then a shadow fell across him.

Looking up he saw a tall shinobi standing across the way, wearing a bandana around his forehead, his face covered in wrappings from the nose down. He stared down at him. What did he want? Who was he? And why did his eyes look so familiar? Then he spoke.

"A little orphan brat, all alone out here. You don't have anyone looking out for you, do you? You'll die soon. Cold or starvation, you're going to die."

That was it. He was alone, too, wasn't he? No one needed him. How could no one need a shinobi that looked so strong? Or maybe he would be the one to end him. Haku didn't care anymore, and it had been so long since someone spoke to him, actually spoke to him, that he spoke his own mind, smiling as he believed he found a similar soul.

"You're eyes remind me of mine," he said. The man stared at him a moment longer, as though sizing him up.

"Well, what will it be? Will you die here, or will you come with me and put those abilities of yours to good use? Hmm? Will you submit yourself to me in all things and do my will, boy?" For a small moment the boys blood frozen harder than the ice in the creek below him, then he felt a warmth flow through him he had not felt in months. This man, he knew about his abilities…and he _wanted_ him. Wanted this little boy and his powers. Powers that would turn others against him. Trembling so much he did no trust his voice, he nodded.

"Very well," the shinobi replied. "Your abilities are no longer yours, but mine, from now until you die. Understand?" In reply the boy stood and walked over to him. The man's large hand was placed on his head, then slid down to his back and pulled him in close, sharing his warmth with the boy. He almost gasped. The sensation of being so close to someone was so…alien, but it filled him with warmth inside and out. It was no game. This man_ wanted_ him. He _needed_ him. And he needed _him_, too.

"Let's go then," the shinobi commanded, and they walked back towards the village together, where he was given new clothes and, first the first time since leaving home, he had a warm meal and bed. As he snuggled into the blankets he peeked out once more to see the tall man staring into the fire.

"Thank-you," he whispered, "for wanting me." The man grunted and the boy drifted off to sleep.

_The same eyes…foolishness, _he thought. _But still, if I can train this boy, make him loyal to me…perhaps I can do something about the stupidity that has been going on here. But it would be safe to be here for long. The bloodline purge is still in effect. I will have to make arrangements, but soon…yes, soon we will have to leave._

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There were birds chirping in the air. A few animals scurried across the ground. Some left tracks, some were not so obvious. Spring was approaching, and with it came the thaw. With it, came a chance to leave.

"I am leaving this land, boy, but one day I will return. When I do, it will be with me holding the whole of this land in my hand. I do not need a companion for this, what I need is-"

"I know. I am a weapon, a tool to use as you see fit…Zabuza-sama." He nodded, placing a hand on the boys head before they turned to walked away from the land of Water.

"Well said…Haku."

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**So, just a short one-shot story. I owed my wife (...I LOVE being able to say that) a favor, and she said she wanted a story with Haku as the focus. it had not idea what to do for this, but then, after I woke up from a LOTR Marathon induced coma, I finally got my idea for what to do. Hope you guys liked it, but what's more important is that she likes it. Still, don't forget to review. Always happy to get those. Later!**


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